Black Lace
by raspberryjukebox
Summary: Voldemort has won the war. Harry and Ron are on the run. Hermione has been sold as a slave to a peculiar brothel with a promise to fulfill. And how does Draco Malfoy fit into all of this? M for violence, language, and sexual themes.
1. Quiver

_black lace, smoke, and chains. flames, sweat, and furs. bourbon breath and bruising hands. souls consuming her's._

* * *

**BLACK LACE**

Chapter One

_Quiver_

I keep my eyes shut as I'm pulled abruptly from my dreams of beech trees and ginger hair. I can tell that the room is still dark and still, except for the heavy footfall outside the door that woke me. Too heavy to be the small, copper-haired girl, and I can hear her snoring softly in the bed across the room anyways.

Another heavy step, and the door creaks slowly open. My eyelids flutter just the slightest bit, and I can see a dark mass in the door frame, silhouetted by the hallway's blazing torchlight. I can't make out the man's face, but his heavy breathing and slightly weaving figure identify him quickly.

A drunken client, here to sample the goods free of charge.

I almost sigh, then catch myself. _Steady, Granger_, I think. _Have to plan this perfectly_.

My establisment-issued wand is to the left of me, on the floor next to my pallet. I let my hand slide in its direction, and as the man takes a step into the room, I snatch it up. Holding my breath, I peek out from beneath my lashes. I know I made a noise.

Slowly, his heavy frame turns towards me. He starts to take lumbering strides forward, and I shoot up, gripping the standard hawthorn wand tightly in my hand. The man stumbles back in surprise, and I take quick advantage of his lapse.

"_Stupefy_!" I whisper-shout, and he falls to the floor with a thud that rattles the bedposts. Quickly I spell the door shut and send ropes around the client's body, binding him safely in place on the cold wood. Hearing a rustle and a gasp from the bed, I flick my wand at the candles on the coffee table before turning to my Lady.

"What happened?" She gasps, normally pin-straight hair rumpled and sticking out around her face. The strap of her nightgown has slid down her pale, freckle-strewn shoulder, and she shakes suddenly.

I step over to her bed, pushing her gently down into the pillows and smoothing the silky comforter back up to her neck. Her large brown eyes are wide and childlike.

"Just an intoxicated client, Lady Ginevra," I murmur soothingly. Reaching into the nightstand drawer, I extract a bottle of lavender oil. Letting a few drops fall onto my fingers, I rub them into her temples. Ginny's frightened eyes slide shut slowly.

"Oh, alright then. And what have I told you about calling me that when we're alone, Hermione?" Her whisper is harsher than I think she meant it, and I flinch. Along with hearing my given name- a rare treat-, rather than the usual 'endearments' from the staff and clients...

_Worthless cunt._

_Mudblood whore._

"Sorry, L- Ginny. It's a habit you slip into after a while. Being your Domestic, it just comes naturally now, I suppose.." My answering whisper is soft, and I try to keep the skittish edge out. I don't know if I succeed, but it is of no matter. She's drifting off to dreamland as it is.

I smooth her gingery hair around her candlelit face, a wave of nostalgia washing over me. I used to comfort her this way often in my second year- her first- when she was so lonely and downtrodden. Those days, all she had was me for a friend. Those days, I held her as she shed tears over her brother's tricks and Harry's obliviousness.

Those days, we were safe.

_Those days are gone_, a voice whispers in my head. Whispers in Ron's voice, full of a frustrated bitterness. I hope that's not how he sounds, that he's still maintained his humor and normally cheery personality. Though I know how little a chance there is of that, on the run with a broken boy from a broken world.

It hurts to think about them, the two pillars of my childhood, and I force them out of my mind. Focus only on the 19-year-old before me, and wonder how she's still so innocent.

I kiss Ginny on the forehead, tuck her comforter closer around her. Pulling on my rough linen robe over my nightgown, I pad over to the fallen body of the intruder and inspect his face.

His face is puffy with drink, marred by dark stubble, and a heavy frame complete with a thick belly completes the picture of a man who's life is in a downward spiral. He reeks of alcohol and death. But with curly, receding black hair with gray at the temples, he looks vaguely familiar. I nudge his head with my foot, exposing the left side of his face, where a scar breaks the thick line of his eyebrow. I gasp. It's Antonin Dolohov, the Death Eater who injured me fifth year at the Ministry. What's he doing creeping around Black's Boudoir? I thought he was friends with the Mistress...

Well, it's of no matter. Extinguishing the candlelight, I levitate him about a foot off of the ground and open the door, sending his inert body out before me. Intruders have to be reported to the Night Master, and as I think of the events to come my stomach seems to drop out of my body. A visit to the Night Master is something that no girl relishes. Walking swiftly down the dark hall, polished black wood reflecting the torches on the walls, I listen for any approaching footsteps. This is a dangerous time of night for a Domestic to be out, and especially one in possession of the Mistress's friend.

After a few twists and turns, I reach the wrought-iron spiral staircase that leads to the Night Master's office and chambers. Taking a deep breath, I begin the ascent. I pretend not to notice when Dolohov's head bumps a stair.

When I reach the unassuming black door with the serpent knocker, I take a deep breath. Manners, I remind myself. Impeccable manners. I raise my slightly shaking hand and grasp the cool body of the snake, and lightly tap it to the door. Stepping back, I bow my head, inspecting the hem of my robe. I hear clumsy footsteps from inside the office growing louder, and gulp as the door swings violently open.

Lucius Malfoy stands before me, long blond hair thrown about his face, robes loosened, and a look of aimless rage in his stormy eyes. He gives me a glare as black as death, and I immediately drop into a low curtsy, reminding myself to look down. I wait in this position for him to acknowledge me, to say something about his colleague floating besides me, but all he does is turn abruptly and stalk into the shadowy room.

"Come," he snarls.

I do, carefully conducting Dolohov's body through the door frame. Malfoy has settled behind his desk, and gives me a look of the utmost loathing. He flicks his wand carelessly behind him, and an amber bottle and brandy glass land gracefully in front of him. Without taking his eyes off of me, he pours himself a healthy portion. Leaning back with the glass in his hand, swirling the liquid, he speaks.

"Explain, Mudblood."

I lower myself into another curtsy, wincing slightly when my knee cracks painfully. "My apologies, Master Malfoy, for disturbing you. I was asleep on my pallet in Lady Ginevra's chamber, and she was in her bed, when I heard footsteps outside of the door. It opened, and he-" I incline my head towards the limp figure on the rug next to me, "-he walked in. He's Dolohov, isn't he?"

Malfoy's lip curled. "Unfortunately, yes. Continue."

"He started walking over to Lady Ginevra's bed. It was obvious what he had planned. Well, Master Malfoy, I'm her Domestic. It's my job to keep her safe and well, so I grabbed my wand and stunned him. She woke up, I calmed her, and I brought him here. I didn't know what you'd want to do with him." I finish my story, making sure my tone is one of enormous respect. The effort almost gags me.

I chance a look up, to see that he hasn't moved. Malfoy takes an enormous swig of brandy, finishing his glass, and as he stands from his desk I can tell it wasn't his first one tonight. Lowering my eyes to the polished floor, I watch the slow progress of his feet towards me. When they stop right in front of me, his voice cuts through the room.

"So."

Malfoy grabs my arm abruptly, wrenching me to my feet. My wand slips from my grasp, and a startled breath escapes me when he yanks me closer to him. I forget about having to show him respect and look him dead in the eye. Malfoy's gray eyes are bloodshot and unfocused. I'm sure mine are wide and terrified. He peers down at me disdainfully, before throwing me away from him. I stumble backwards, nearly falling.

"You attacked a client- worse than that, a Death Eater- and a dear friend of Mistress Black and myself? Because you thought he might just use your Lady for what she's here for? Remember Mudblood, Lady or not, unwilling or not, she's still a prostitute. And you're still a slave. A worthless, filthy blooded slave who just cost me a valued client." Malfoy's voice has a righteous, justifying edge that makes me shake in fear.

I know what's coming, I'm going to be punished because I did my job. I followed the rules set out in this ungodly place, followed them for Ginny's sake, and now he's going to hurt me for it.

Malfoy fingers his wand tenderly, before raising it so the point rests right between my eyes. He smiles.

"_Crucio_."

My scream tears the rooms dark wood and heavy velvet accents to shreds.  
_

Later, much later, I limp back to mine and Ginny's room, teeth chattering uncontrollably, covered in sweat and blood. After Malfoy'd Crucio'd me for a while, he'd revived Dolohov and invited him to exact his revenge. He chose to do so the Muggle way, with his fists.

I pass a window and peer out, wondering what the time is. The stars are strewn across the velvet sky, twinkling merrily down onto this destroyed world. What do they know of war?

My mother used to tell me that there was a star for every person that ever lived, and the brighter the star, the more loved a person was. We'd sit on a ragged quilt in the backyard at night, and she'd point to the North Star saying, "Look, Hermione. That big, bright star? That's your star, honey." And she'd offer me one of her golden smiles and tell me stories of star people and mermaids and princesses who saved themselves from their tall towers...

Well, Mum, I'm trapped in a tower now, and I can't find my star to lead me home.

I keep walking with a regretful last look at the night sky when I hear a voice from behind me.

"Hermione? Oh, God, Hermione?" Turning, I have time to see a wide frame and dark, rich skin before I'm being enfolded in someone's arms. I struggle instinctively, still pained from Dolohov's many blows, and the arms release me. Whimpering in fear, I slowly raise me eyes to meet the gaze of one Dean Thomas. My whimpers subside, and I gasp.

"Dean? No! What are you doing here?" My cry is scratchy and painful, throat sore from all of my screaming. I grab Dean's hands and pull him further down the hall, into the shadows, as he answers.

"I was found on the run and recognized as Harry's friend. God, Hermione, I haven't seen anyone I know in three whole years... The circumstances are awful, but it's sure as hell great to see you." Dean says earnestly.

I nod along. "It's great to see you too, and I'm glad you're alive, but why are you here? Dean... This is a brothel." I hate that word so much. So, so much. Dean does too, I can tell by the way his eyes tighten.

"I don't know why they brought me here. They just put me in a bedroom and told me to stay put until morning, so I'm sure they have some sort of purpose in keeping me." His voice is attempting cheer, and failing miserably.

"Well, if they told you to stay put, you should." I say firmly. If you're going to wander the halls in Black's Boudoir, you'd better have a damn good reason. Speaking of, I desperately need to get back to my room.

"Dean, I'll find you tomorrow, I swear. But now I need to get back to my room. There are things I have to do. You should go back, too. It's safer," I say, already stepping out of the shadows and continuing down the hallway. His hand catches mine, pulling me to a stop, and I hiss in pain as it aggravates my abused muscles.

Dean doesn't notice, however. "You'd better. I'll see you tomorrow, Hermione, there's so much you need to tell me." He gives me a quick hug and jogs the opposite way down the hallway, turning left and disappearing from sight. I sigh. That's something I wasn't expecting.

I keep walking to our room, letting myself drag on as the pain in my body overtakes all other feeling. When I enter the room, I walk straight to my pallet and collapse on it. I glance up to make sure I didn't wake Ginny. All I can see is a lock of her red hair trailing off of the edge of the bed, and I smile sadly. I remember another, shorter lock of red, spread out on a lumpy pillow below me as I hold hands with it's owner, falling asleep with an overwhelming feeling of security.

I do so now, the safety of my memory echoing in my head as the pain in my body lessens to a dull roar.

_I miss you, Ron_, I think sleepily. _I hope you and Harry are watching out for each other. I'll keep taking care of Ginny, don't worry, nothing can hurt her as long as I'm here..._

* * *

Hello, new readers! Thank you for embarking on this new journey with me! This will be my first full-length Dramione. Or Romione. I'm not sure yet! But it's going to long, it's going to be messy, and you're going to love it.

Any questions you may have, go ahead and ask! They'll probably be answered in the next chapter, when I give more of a back story to the whole thing. This was kind of a semi-epilogue-prequel? I dunno. It's late and I'm tired.

So, please review and let me know what you think so far! It's going to be a very interesting ride...

Raspberryjukebox

_**Oh, and a note on the wand wood Hermione has! This is the description of hawthorn on J.K. Rowling's Pottermore Wand Woods piece: "Hawthorn wands may be particularly suited to healing magic, but they are also adept at curses, and I have generally observed that the hawthorn wand seems most at home with a conflicted nature, or with a witch or wizard passing through a period of turmoil."_


	2. Distaste

_a child once was she, who gives herself away. and the further into Hell she sinks, the more the child decays._

* * *

**Black Lace**

Chapter Two

_Distaste_

I wake up to an empty room. Panic grips me before I hear water running in the bathroom, and I sigh in relief. I start to sit up, and find that it's nearly impossible to do so. I'm so sore from my beating, it takes an effort just to bend my limbs. In the dim morning light I can make out brilliant purple and black marks up and down my arms. I know that when I take off my robe, the skin on my torso will be marred as well.

Slowly, painfully, I raise myself off of my pallet, stretching lightly when I'm up. I'll have to conceal the bruises once I'm dressed- We can't give clients the idea that Black's Boudoir could be violent. I scoff at that thought. This entire place is smoke and mirrors, making pain look like mystery and turning scared young girls into objects of lust. But what else would you expect from a whore house run by Bellatrix Black?

As I'm heading slowly towards it, the bathroom door swings open. Ginny stands there in a haze of steam, face flushed with heat and hair tied up in a loose bun. She walks towards me, taking my arm gently and leading me into the bathroom.

"What happened when you went to get him out of here?" She asks, worry in her gentle voice. "When I woke up, you were on your bed covered in bruises and  
blood."

I let her settle me on the edge of the enormous bathtub, filling with fragrant water, and watch as she picks up a wide-tooth comb. Ginny starts to run it gently  
through my tangled, curly mess.

"I went to-" I have to clear my throat. It's very sore from screaming, I suppose. "-to see Malfoy. To see what he would do with the intruder. It was Dolohov, by  
the way, the Death Eater that hurt me at the Ministry when we went to... To rescue Sirius." My chest tightens at the memory, and I close my eyes when I feel  
Ginny's hands falter.

"What happened when you got there?" Ginny asks, voice muted. She starts to combing again, and I get a rush of fear. If one of the Masters saw us now, positions switched, the results would be awful. I fidget where I sit.

"Well, he was... Drunk. And angry. And when I went into his office, he had more to drink. I told him what happened, I followed all of the rules, but it didn't help. He yanked me up from the ground- I was curtsying, of course- and yelled about how Dolohov was a friend and things... He Crucio'd me before waking Dolohov and letting him beat me." I manage to say this all in a matter-of-fact tone, although I fail at keeping the tremor out of my voice.

Ginny stops combing and comes around in front of me, sitting on the edge of the tub and pulling me into her arms. I feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes from this motherly embrace, and a dry sob escapes me. God, I miss my mum. I miss my dad. I miss my grandparents and cousins and uncles and friends and teachers and Hogwarts and the way life used to be and-

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Ginny whispers soothingly, interrupting my agonizing thoughts. "C'mon. Let's get you into the tub and healed up. I'll send a message to Parkinson, tell her we'll be late down to breakfast." We stand and Ginny helps me out of my clothes.

I slip into the silky water as she scurries off to find parchment, sighing at the feeling of utter comfort and warmth. When I close my eyes, I'm surprised at the wave of lethargy that rolls over me. I'm so tired, so worn, physically and emotionally. I could just loll here in the water, let my responsibilities slip away, just for today...

With a violent snort my eyes shoot open and I snap painfully upright. Coughing and trying to clear my nose of water, I rake my sharp nails through my hair to stay alert. Ginny rushes back over to me, parchment in her hand, worried expression on her face.

"Just dozed off for a second, Gin. Got water up my nose," I wheeze, and she nods.

As she heads back to the bedroom, she calls, "Rosie!" and a crack sounds as our house elf appears. Rosie is a sweetheart, young and wrapped in a yard of  
flowing black fabric. She barely comes up to my knees, and Ginny and I dote on her, even as she blushes, embarrassed. Ginny hands her the note, along with  
instructions on where to deliver it, and asks her to come back as soon as she's done.

"Yes, Lady Ginny! Rosie will be right back!" She squeaks with a smile, disappearing again. Ginny walks back over to me, settles on the edge of the tub.

"Anything else happen?" She asks gently.

It comes to me abruptly, and I can't believe I didn't remember before.

"Ginny! Dean's here! I forgot, I ran into him afterwards, yes, yes, Dean's here." I trip over my words in my haste to get them out, and Ginny has the expression of one just struck over the head with a heavy object.

I can sense that this is going to be a long, long day.  
_

At four o'clock in the afternoon, the day is dragging on. Ginny was told sternly by Mistress Parkinson that she was not to miss breakfast again on account of a 'hangover'. Parkinson, having hated me from day one at Hogwarts, told me gleefully that punishment would be in store for allowing my Lady to "lounge around in bed like the lazy whore she is".

I said nothing back, just stared disdainfully at her pug face until the smile turned to a grimace and she strode away.

Now Ginny and I are in the Lady's Lounge. She's taking a short break from primping to eat, and me and the other Domestics are speeding around, cleaning and collecting cosmetics and various costumes from the many racks as our Ladies relax in front of their vanities in light silk robes. I pass Padma Patil, who's selecting a diaphanous gray veil to go with the loose silver dress slung over her arm. As Luna's Domestic, she's one of the more solemn girls here. I smile softly  
at Padma, who responds in kind, and throw a glance over at Luna.

She's sitting at the vanity next to Ginny's, staring blankly off into space. Her hands make vague, graceful movements, twirling along to a melody in her head that no one can hear. Whenever I see my old friend, a painful ache resonates in my chest. Luna hasn't been her wonderful, dreamy self in three years. Not  
since the first few days in this hell hole. She broke, mind and spirit mangled beyond repair. A body can be healed, but Luna's soul was too damaged after what  
Greyback, who'd taken a special interest in her, had done. And continued to do, for an entire year, until he'd tired of her and moved onto Cho.

She didn't survive.

As I walk by with Ginny's rose-gold costume held gingerly away from my plain robe, I give Luna my gentlest, most loving smile. She just stares blankly at me, eyes empty as her lips form silent words. There's no recognition in those silvery depths.

I reach Ginny's vanity and hold up her costume for her opinion.

"What do you think, Lady Ginevra?" I ask softly, keeping my eyes trained on a spot somewhere to the left of her face, giving a small curtsy. In front of the others, we have to be perfect models of the Lady/Domestic relationship.

"It will serve its purpose, I suppose," Ginny answers distastefully, giving me a small wink. I set the costume aside so I can finish her makeup. The chatter and  
hustle around me, the flowery and sultry perfumes, all fade to the back of my conciousness as I sculpt smoldering eyes, flawless porcelain skin, and lush glossy  
lips.

When I emerge from my haze, a stunning creature stares cooly back at me. Her amber eyes are wide and framed with long lashes and dark, smoky sweeps of  
chocolate shadow, and her cheekbones cut sharply across her pale skin, dusted lightly with rose blush. Her lips are painted a dark, glistening crimson. Ginny is, without contest, the most beautiful woman in the room.

"How does it look?" A girl's voice comes from this otherworldly beauty's mouth, and I start slightly. Grabbing the hand mirror off of the table, I hold it out in  
front of her.

"Is it satisfactory, my Lady?"

"Yes, thank you Granger. Now, help me into my costume."

I remove Ginny's silky robe, and she stands unashamedly in her peachy lingerie. The girls in the room throw her jealous looks. She steps into the glittery rose-gold leotard. I button up the back, and come around her front to inspect her. The costume emphasizes her tiny waist and the gentle flare of her hips. It makes Ginny's legs look miles long, and the bustier top adds just the perfect amount of detail and shape to her chest. Her hair has crazy volume and is half up, framing her face. I, the bookworm, have transformed a pretty young lady into this seductive, knowing, dangerous woman.

I _hate_ it.

I hate this unlikely talent I have with makeup and hair. My ability to change Ginny into an object of lust is so acute that after every show, she has the largest line of drooling wizards outside of her door. And it's all my fault...

"You look stunning, my Lady." I say with a nearly undetectable edge to my voice, and she smiles sadly, nodding. Ginny then walks over to help Padma hold Luna still as she tries desperately to dress her in her flowing costume. She can't tolerate anyone's hands on her other than Ginny's, who is currently whispering  
soothing words and stroking her cheek. After a few minutes, Luna's dressed and ready to go, as are the rest of the room.

Pansy Parkinson stomps in with a look of maddening ego. "Alright, you useless bitches," she shouts, "showtime!"  
_

The room is dim and smoky, full of coarse laughter and silky voices. I filter from candle-topped table to table, offering Firewhiskey and the like as men jeer and  
leer. Padma is a few tables away, turning away from a particularly rowdy group of young men. I catch her eye, and she offers a sardonic smile before her face  
tightens, turns wooden. I worriedly look her over, first thought being she was hit with a jinx, and see that one of the men has his hand on her ass. I'm about to  
do something when she whips gracefully away.

No big deal, in this place, to have someone grope you, but it's still terrifying. Being Muggleborns, these fine young gentlemen could throw us down and fuck us  
on a table, free of charge, and we couldn't do anything about it. That's why I make sure my robes are about two sizes too big and that my hair covers my face.  
The last thing I want is attention.

I'm lowering a tray of drinks onto a table of known Death Eaters, who I've seen here quite a few times, when huge cheers rip through the establishment. Looking up, I see that the stage in the front of the room has been lit with a dark red light. Then the Mistress strides out onto it, insane grin nearly charming in the distorted atmosphere.

Bellatrix Black sashays right up to the front of the stage, pointing her wand at her throat. "Hello, boys!" She calls, voice magically amplified, amidst wolf and much applause. Her laugh is fake and terrifying. "Are you ready to party?"

Bellatrix makes a grand, sweeping gesture to the side of the stage, and the girls walk out on stage, hands on their hips and coy smiles on their lips. Ginny leads the pack, movements graceful and seductive. She is clearly the star of this show, and the men know it.

Turning back to the audience, Bellatrix says, "Meet the sexiest blood-traitors in the world, gentlemen! They're here for your pleasure, and your pleasure only. Tonight, you are the center of the universe. They'll dance for you, and later, if you're lucky enough-" meaning, if you'll pay enough, "-they'll even fuck you! So do try to rein yourselves in until then, boys... If you can." And with a suggestive wink, she's gone.

Loud and infectious music starts, and the girls begin to dance. All of those painted faces blend together, except for Ginny's. She stands out, terrifyingly beautiful, twirling and kicking and shaking with all she has. Once, she told me that in the moments she's dancing, she stops being a captive in a twisted world of sex and glitter. She's just Ginny. Not Lady Ginevra, not 'that whore', just Ginny.

And she's off being Just Ginny now, I can tell, because her face is joyful like it hasn't been for three years.

Here, in the back of this sinful room, under the protection of smoke, music, and yells from aroused men, I start to cry. I cry for Ginny, cry for me. I cry for Luna, and Padma, and Parvati, who we lost at the Final Battle. I cry for all of us trapped here in this unholy place.

Through my tears, I barely register the fact that the door next to me has opened. That is, until I hear an incredulous voice that I never imagined I would hear again.

"Granger?"

I turn blindingly fast, and gape in shock as I meet wide, slate gray eyes. Reflexively, I flinch. I am a Mudblood. I do not look men in the eyes. So instead my gaze lands on his platinum hair. No, no better. His bow-shaped lips. His aristocratic nose. Finally, they return unwillingly to his stormy eyes.

He's still staring at me in bemused shock. I'm mortified beyond belief that he would see me here, in this position, and crying to boot. Being humiliated makes me very, very angry.

So, I give a teetering, sarcastic curtsy.

"Malfoy. So nice to see you again."

* * *

Thanks to those of you who reviewed, favorited, and subscribed! I'm hoping for some reviews on this chapter, guys, I sacrificed a few hours of sleep for it! Now, all questions will be answered next chapter. You're getting the whooooole backstory. Yaaaay.

So review, and come back for more!

Raspberryjukebox


	3. Surreal

_body maintained, but purity forgotten, she sleepwalks through her days to survive. _

* * *

**BLACK LACE**

Chapter Three

_Surreal_

"Granger?"

"Malfoy. So nice to see you again."  
_

Oh, God, why?

After everything you've abandoned me for, every responsibility and hardship you've dumped on me, why did you leave me with this? Could you not have spared me the small mercy of never having to see his face again?

I stare defiantly at Malfoy, whose look of shock is quickly turning to confused glee. I can't comprehend what's happening, not fully. I thought that Malfoy would have been killed after the Final Battle, like Narcissa. Lord, now I'm thinking of what his father did, oh no, not now-

"What in the name of Merlin are you doing here, Granger?" Malfoy spits at me. His infamous smirk is stretched across his face, but it lacks the proud air it had at Hogwarts. Now, his smirk and his tone have a bitter edge. For some reason, it gives me a small feeling of unexplainable triumph, and I glory in it.

"Why Malfoy, can't you tell? I come for the tits." My caustic remark earns me a small flame of anger in his stormy eyes, and I nearly laugh. I'm teetering, unbalanced, the world tilting around me. Mixed with the multicolored pulsing balls of light overhead, the loud music, and the dancing girls onstage, I feel like I'm going to vomit.

Malfoy scowls and steps up to me. The desire to laugh evaporates as he backs me into the wall, trapping me there with his heavy stare. "Don't tease me, Mudblood, or I will punish you," he whispers. Malfoy reaches out one long, pale finger, and drags it slowly down my cheek and neck. I shudder and turn my head away.  
"Are you one of Aunt Bella's slaves, then, Mudblood?" He asks delightedly.

I stare past his shoulder, pressing my lips firmly together. I am no one's slave. I am here to protect Ginny. For Ron and Harry, Arthur and Molly. The twins and the older Weasley brothers- bless Charlie's soul. I am not Bellatrix's slave.

I am my own.

This is irrelevant to Malfoy, however, because his grin stretches wider across his face as my silence answers his question better than my mouth ever could. Before I can even react, he grabs my waist and hoists me up, throwing me over his shoulder and hurrying out of the main room. I'm too stunned to make any noise, but I beat his back with my fists and kick wildly at the air.

"Malfoy, stop! What the fuck are you doing?" I scream, voice found. He doesn't answer, only dashes through the black-and-silver tiled lobby, nodding cooly at the doorman who stands unfazed, before going down a narrow hallway off to the side. It leads to the Ladies' rooms.

Once we've come to the main hallway where the Ladies' bedrooms are does Malfoy slow and lower me to the ground. He's panting slightly from carrying me and running, and I am livid- and absolutely terrified.

Glancing around, I see that the hall is completely deserted. I knew it would be, as it's showtime, but I had hoped maybe there'd be a Domestic or someone around. No such luck.

Without looking at Malfoy, I push past him, hearing him give a startled grunt, and bolt down the hallway. I know the way through the Ladies' halls better than he does, and I'm sure I can lose him.

My feet pound on the hard tile and I can hear his skidding behind me. Picking up the pace, I hurtle around a corner, looking behind my shoulder to see how much distance is between us. I'm shocked to see that he isn't ten feet away, all traces of humor gone and rage etched into his face. I gasp aloud, and my feet trip over each other.

"No!" I shout involuntarily as I fall, throwing my hands out to catch my weight. I hit the ground hard, banging my hip and knee, and give a low groan. My wrist, having caught the brunt of my weight, is aching fiercely. Still, I lurch forward desperately to get away from the man behind me, but it's too late.

His hands, surprisingly warm, are firm on my shoulder and around my stomach, pulling me back into his hard body. Squirming, I cry out, and tears spring to my eyes.

Was it foolish to hope that I could avoid a situation like this?

Malfoy says nothing, makes no noise at all, just carries me through the hallway. He ignores my cries to let me go, just stalks back to where we were before I ran.

He releases me from his hold and shoves me roughly into the wall. My face bangs against the stone, scraping, and I shudder. When Malfoy makes no other move, I turn my head slowly to the side. He's standing there, chest heaving, staring at me. Just... staring. Before he tries anything, will I be able to fight him? My legs ache, my knee throbs, and by the feel of it my wrist is sprained. My cheek is beginning to ooze blood from the wall, and I'm exhausted. All of this, on top of the bruises and aches I received from Dolohov.

I don't know what to do. There's nothing I _can_ do, but I can't just give up. What would Ginny think? Harry? Ron?

"Malfoy, go. Just... Go." The words escape me before I realize that I'd thought them. I sound utterly broken already, but I doubt he'll take pity on me. He never did, did he?

His hands are back on my shoulders, only gentler this time. He turns me around.

Again, there are his gray eyes. No longer enraged, but there's a frantic power in them, and I have no idea what's going to happen.

"Granger," Malfoy mutters, stepping up to me, "I'm not going to do that."  
_

_Ginevra Weasley_

Stepping off the stage, I smile exhaustedly at Lavender. She's wiping the back of her neck, and her ice blue costume is stained with sweat.

"It's gonna be a long night for you, Red," Lavender warns. "As usual, you killed it."

I nod, unconcerned. "For you too, blondie. Be careful." I wrap a skinny arm around her shoulder and give her a quick half-hug. Waving at some of the other girls, I start heading back to my room to bathe and get ready for the parade of 'visitors'. The other dancers stay in the dressing room, passing around some liquor and laughing.

I walk through the dark lobby, gold heels clicking on the tile, and a rush of rowdy cheers envelop me. The audience is gathered around in groups, clinking glasses and scarfing down complementary food. A security wizard appears from nowhere to escort me through the crowd, and I throw out a few saucy winks and suggestive grins.

Once I've entered the Ladies' hall, the wizard turns around and I carry on alone. I wonder if Hermione already drew me a bath. She's so sweet with things like that. I hate to admit it, because it's the most unfair thing, but she's a brilliant Domestic. Not that she should be one.

Not that I should be forced to dance in front of disgusting men or be expected to welcome them into my bed every night.

I sigh. No, neither of us are exactly better off than the other. At least we're not alone in this hell.

Soon I realize that the clicking of my heels aren't the only sound echoing around the long hallway. I hear... crying? Quickening my pace, I turn the corner to my hall.

Hermione is crumpled outside our door, face to the ground, body racked with sobs.

I run forward and throw myself to the ground beside her.

"Hermione! What happened?" I shout, and she turns her head to face me. Her eye is blackened, face bloody and tinged purple, and her mouth is bleeding. Tears tinged pink have fallen to the ground, and she looks absolutely tiny.

"I-I," she coughs out, still weeping. I pull her upper body onto my lap and cradle her head and shoulders in my arms. "I ran into M-Malfoy." She whispers, and I nod, understanding.

"Was he drunk again? Beat you just because? Bloody bastard," I mutter, rage rising inside. What's he have against Hermione- why is he always hurting her?

But she shakes her head frantically. "N-No. Not him. It w-was...," Hermione pauses to weakly wipe tears off of her face. I realize that I might not want to know who put them there, but-

"It was D-Draco Malfoy."

* * *

So, not pleased with this chap. Next one will be up before Sunday, though, I promise!

Review, and thanks for reading.

Raspberryjukebox


	4. Rules

_but in those dreams of fields and cotton, she remembers when she was truly alive._

* * *

**BLACK LACE **

Chapter Four

_ Rules_

One Saturday in early fall, Harry, Ron, and I were sitting by the lake underneath our favorite beech tree. Ron was an unusually good mood, cracking jokes and roaring with laughter at nearly everything we said. I sat next to him grinning, just soaking up his mood. Even Harry, so stressed and pale, had to smile at his exuberant attitude.

I'd leaned back against the trunk, letting the shade fall over my face, and closed my eyes. After a while I drifted off into a half-sleep, lulled there by my best friends familiar voices. When I came to, it was cooler out and Harry was walking back up to the castle. Ron was still beside me, but just in his khakis and button up shirt, tie loosened. He shivered as he read his book on the Chudley Cannons, and when I looked down I realized why. Ron had spread his robe over my legs to keep me warm in the chilly autumn air. When he realized that I was awake, he gave me a dazzling smile and joked that he must be incredibly boring if his stories could put me to sleep.

It was then, with the slanting rays of the sun setting his gingery hair ablaze, freckled cheeks stretched in a teasing grin and eyes shining with mirth, that I fell- and hard- for Ronald Weasley.  
**_._**

And then he had to go and muck everything up by dating Lavender Brown.

Lavender Brown, no longer a target of jealous rage. No, now a fellow victim and friend. She too was taken from the Battle. Now she dances alongside Ginny every night and is forced to sleep with faceless strangers. I can't hate her. Just as she can't hate me. We get on pretty well now, despite our contact being limited due to the forced conventions of this strange world. She's a Lady.

So many friends that I can't have proper relationships with anymore, because their standing outstrips mine. Lavender, Luna, Katie Bell. Susan Bones and Angelina.

At least I know most of their Domestics. Lavender has Parvati, Luna has Padma, Katie has Alicia. She's no mudblood, but Hanna Abbott is Susan's Domestic- probably due to her complete lack of sensuality. Lucky girl. Angelina flat out refused a Domestic, making each girl assigned to her sleep in her bed while she slept on their pallet, not allowing them to assist her in getting ready. Eventually the Masters cracked, allowing her to 'fly solo'.

Here at Black's Boudoir, Ladies and Domestics alike have formed a tight bond. We are a sisterhood of victims, some strong, some broken. Although we abide by the laws set in this unholy place to survive, we all hate it here. At night, when the men have left and the Domestics help their Ladies wash, heal their often broken bodies and lay out fresh sheets, we are united in our desire to escape.

But during the day, the Ladies look down on the Domestics. The Domestics grovel at their feet, alongside the house elves. This is not out of anything but the desire to keep the peace, to protect all who reside in this unfortunate world. We cannot let the Masters suspect that our bond exists beyond servitude.

But it does. For Ginny and I especially. We are best friends, sisters, and I refuse to accept the circumstances she's been forced into. Ginny Weasley, bright and pure, to fuck countless men every night? No. I do not allow it.

I swore to Ron as we were taken away that I would protect her, take care of her, through it all.

**_._**

Now she's the one taking care of me. We sit, once again, on the rim of the huge bathtub as she smooths ointment over my wounds. Ginny babbles on aimlessly, giving me something to focus lazily on rather than replay what just happened.

Why in God's name did he do that?

I know Malfoy has always hated me. I do. But he's never been violent like that around me, never. And there was just something in his eyes... He looked unhinged. Terrifying.

In pain?

Dismissing the thought, I work on repairing my emotional state. Things like this happen in the new world. How could the not, with Voldemort running everything? It's not like I haven't been beaten before, because Merlin knows I've had my fair share of fists flying towards my face. But this beating. It was surreal. So personal, yet so detached.

"Hermione? Hello?" Ginny's voice seeps into my conciousness, and I snap my attention back to her. My face feels much better, refreshed and slightly cool. I give her a grateful smile.

"Sorry, Gin. I'm a little out of it. What were you saying?" I ask. She stands up, holding out her hand to pull me to my feet.

"I said that I know it's a bad time, but I need out of my costume and into the bath." Ginny has such a guilty, apologetic look on her face that it twists my stomach. There's no need for that look to be traced into her beautiful features.

Murmuring an assent, I help her out of her flashy outfit and go hang it up as she soaks. When I pass the mirror I peer into it hesitantly. The face staring back is one that I avoid at all costs.

Long, long chestnut hair, thick ringlets wild and untamed. I haven't had a proper haircut since... God, I can't even remember. My skin is incredibly pale, and now unmarked, with the faintest rosy shadows on my cheekbones. The ghosts of a blush. My lips are chapped due to my nervous biting. Reluctantly, I reach my eyes.

They used to be brown. Just a nice, normal brown, happy and bright. But now my eyes show what I've been through these past three years. They're skittish and deep, wells of pain and fear.

All in all, I realize that I'm kind of... Pretty. Maybe even more so. But that just increases my chances of being taken by one of the clients.

I flinch away from my reflection and step into the bedroom. Once I've put Ginny's costume in the laundry bin, I survey the room.

"Rosie?" I call quietly.

A pop, and our sweet elf stands before me. I can't help but give her a doting smile. I hate to admit it more than almost anything, but she's helped me tremendously since we've arrived here. Ah, if Ron could see me now. Accepting slave labor.

"What can Rosie do for Miss Mione?" She squeaks, curtsying. I gesture around the room.

"Rosie dear, Lady Ginny's visitors will be arriving soon and I have to get her ready. I don't have time to prepare the room. Could you please do it f-for me?" I ask as politely as I can, wincing when I put my responsibility on her small shoulders.

Not that she minds.

"Rosie is happy to, Miss! The room will be ready for Lady Ginny!" Her happy voice brightens the room. I give her a grateful pat on the arm and hurry off to the bathroom.

Ginny is just stepping out of the tub. Her makeup is smudged, her hair wet and tangled. Thank Merlin for magic. I sit her down at the vanity and grab my wand, drying her hair and styling is so that it falls in soft ringlets around her face. I remove her makeup with a twitch of my wrist and place a charm on her to keep her complexion clear.

Once again I enter my hazy world of makeup, and when I emerge Ginny's eyes are enormous, fringed with long bristly lashes and winged eyeliner. I've contoured her face and added nude lipstick. She looks tantalizingly innocent.

God, I hate myself.  
**_._**

The room is ablaze with candles. The canopy above Ginny's bed shimmers softly, the cream tulle laced with golden threads to match the bold duvet. Ginny is stretched out on it seductively, in black and nude lingerie, staring hard at the door. She makes a face at me when the first knock sounds, and I grip my wand hard, adrenaline rushing through my veins.

I walk slowly to the door and open it, bowing to the man on the other side before I can see his face. He walks silently into the room and I hear Ginny gasp as I close the door. Whirling around before he reaches the bed, I point my wand at his broad back.

"_Stupefy_," I whisper. He falls over gracelessly, thudding dully on the wood floor. Ginny sighs in relief, and I meet her gaze. She doesn't usually react when I Stun the clients, unless it's with a bored groan or a quiet snicker. But now her face is flushed red and her breath comes a little quicker.

"Gin?" I ask hesitantly.

She gestures wordlessly to the man. I walk over to him until I can see his face properly. When I can, I start to hyperventilate as well.

It's Cormac McLaggen.

I shake my head, clearing it. Who it is shouldn't matter, although we're both shaken by his appearance. I thought he was on our side.

"_Obliviate_," I whisper. As I focus on clearing his memory of the seconds before he fell, I replace it with a different one. A very graphic memory, in which he got just what he came for, and Ginny did just what she's here to do...

Not that she ever has, thanks to me.

Ginny, the most highly favored prostitute in Black's Boudoir, is a virgin.

_._

In the morning, I leave the room as quietly as I can. Ginny is peacefully asleep on her luxurious bed, safe and warm. She had a steady stream of visitors, all who left feeling immensely satisfied. Ginny sat on her bed the whole time, talking animatedly as I replaced their memories, making me laugh as well as her brother used to. Around two, the establishment closed and we were able to rest.

It must be around six now, and I have a stabbing headache. It's the reason I'm awake, even though I'm completely drained of energy. The small vial of pain potion a kitchen cupboard is my goal as I trudge, exhausted, down the corridor.

When I reach the kitchen, I'm surprised to see that the lanterns are lit. I can hear someone rummaging in the pantry, but can't see who it is.

"Padma? Alicia?" I whisper softly. My whole body tenses when a tall mass appears in the frame. I can't see who it is due to the low light, but I can tell that the person is male.

What if it's..?

"Hermione!" A deep voice calls, and I relax. Dean runs out of the pantry towards me and nearly barrels me over with his hug. I laugh and wrap my arms around his broad back in return.

"Dean! I didn't know when I'd get to see you!" I exclaim happily, stepping back to smile at him. His face is lit up, and though he looks a little worse for wear, he doesn't seem all that different from the boy I knew at Hogwarts.

"Me neither, I'm so glad I ran into you. Merlin, Hermione, this place is..," Dean trails off, clearly at a loss for words. I can't blame him. Black's Boudoir is a very hard place to describe.

I herd him over to the table where the Domestics sit and hurriedly retrieve my potion. Gulping down the vial and screwing up my nose as the sickly sweet taste hits, I turn back to Dean.

"I know," I say, simply. Dean nods. I sit in the chair next to him and inspect his appearance again. He doesn't seem to be injured in any way, there are no bags under his eyes, and his clothes are clean.

"What are they having you do?" I ask him.

He tells me. "I'm in training as a security wizard," he explains. "Apparently they found me properly intimidating." That said with a roguish wink.

I'll say. The boy's 6 feet tall and heavily muscled to boot.

"Well, you'll do great, I'm sure."

He nods again. Now worry flashes across his eyes.

"Hermione... I know next to nothing on how things work here. Please don't be offended by my questions, okay?" Dean asks tentatively. It's my turn to nod. He clears his throat, steadying himself.

"Are you one of the prostitutes?" He whispers.

"No, Dean. Not me. I'm a Domestic," I reassure him.

"What's that?" Dean asks, puzzled.

Wow. They really haven't told him much at all, have they?

So I explain what I do. In fact I explain everything about this place. I tell him how the Ladies and Domestics interact, what their jobs are. I tell him who the Masters and Mistresses are- Lucius Malfoy, Erik Yaxley, Pansy Parkinson are the important ones- and make sure he knows who the owner is.

"Bellatrix Lestrange, right?" Dean asks.

My eyes widen. "No, Dean, and this is very important. It's Bellatrix Black. Yes, she was a Lestrange, but she... She killed her husband at the Final Battle. Wanted to be free of him, or something. Voldemort-" Dean flinches. "-didn't care. Now she goes by her maiden name. Dean, if you call her Lestrange, she will have you killed. Understand?" My tone is desperate. He _needs_ to understand this fundamental rule.

"I understand." He says.

"Also," I start, hesitation creeping into my voice. I _abhor_ this topic. "It is essential that you don't mention Narcissa Malfoy to anyone in this place."

"Why?" Dean asks, a furrow appearing in his brow. Oh so many rules...

"Because," I whisper, "Malfoy killed her- more than that, brutalized her- when everything settled down. No one knows why. Whenever she's mentioned, he becomes very violent. Since then he's become an alcoholic and-" My voice falters.

"And?" Dean's voice is hushed.

I take a deep breath. "And a rapist. He takes any girl he wants in here, Dean, and if you see it happening... God, as much as I want to die when I say this, don't stop it. He will _kill_ you."

I cringe at the memories that surface. Romilda Vane was once a Lady here, and when Malfoy took her Domestic and she tried to save her... Lord, the memory makes me sick. We had to watch as a warning as he tortured her for her 'impudence'. He finished her off by having her burned alive.

Her screams still echo in my nightmares.

"But that's barbaric!" Dean's angered shout pulls me back to the present. His face is stormy and incredulous.

"Of course it is! Look at the kind of establishment you're in, Dean!" I cry back, anguished. Dean's anger leeches away- well, some of it- and he looks at me long and hard. Suddenly his face melts into a terribly fragile expression. He looks like a little boy.

"Merlin, Hermione. What have you been through here?"

I shake my head slowly.

"Too much, Dean. Far too much."

* * *

Alright, lovelies, I have 10 minutes until Sunday! Woo, promise fulfilled! Except I did lie to you about one thing- you were supposed to get the backstory last chapter, and you got none AT ALL. So sorry! It just didn't work out.

Draco will be back very soon, with an explanation (he didn't beat her 'just cuz', darlings) as well as some surprising events, so if you want them sooner, review! I'm much more inclined to write when I know that there are people that want to read.

Love you all, thanks for reading!

Raspberryjukebox


	5. Status

_the love between mother and child is unconditional, but what of the father's?_

* * *

**BLACK LACE**

Chapter Five

_Status_

My father is slumped pitifully over his desk as I walk into that damned office. He barely twitches when I clear my throat loudly, trying to wake him. Shaking my hand out of the sleeve of my robe, I twist my wrist up to check my watch. We have thirty minutes until the show starts. Sighing, I walk over to Lucius and shake his shoulder roughly.

"Father. Get up."

He starts, and the empty brandy glass he had clenched in his hand falls, headed for the hard wood floor. I wave my wand at it and it reverses its path, landing calmly on the desk. Lucius grunts, peering up at me with bleary, bloodshot eyes. I stare back unwaveringly. There was once a day when I flinched away from his cold glare, but not anymore. Now, _my_ eyes are hard.

"Get. _Up_. The show starts in half an hour. Aunt Bella will be out for blood if you miss her opening again." I twist my lips up in a bitter smirk. "After all, she takes any and every opportunity to show herself off to you, doesn't she Father? She lacks all of the class Mother... _Had_." I speak with cruel, intentional cheer, and my father flinches. A reminder of my mother on the anniversary of her death- death that he brought- might be a tiny bit upsetting.

Poor. Thing.

"Watch your tongue, boy." He grumbles, averting my gaze, and I laugh. This wasted fool is far beneath me now.

"Watch _my_ tongue, Father? Not today. No, not today. You know, I was at mother's grave earlier. And there was a broken bottle of whiskey on top of it." I crouch until we are eye-to-eye and pierce him with my gaze. "Tell me, Father, what right do you have to visit Mother? Was carving her up not enough for you, you have to torment her in death as well?"

Lucius's eyes cloud over in rage and pain, but I do not care. It's his damned fault she's gone, and he deserves to fucking suffer. If the Dark Lord hadn't decided that he could still be of some use, I would've obliterated him by now. Cut every appendage off and burned them in front of his eyes, cut out his tongue so I wouldn't have to hear his screams. Someday, I will have that luxury, but not today.

I stand and watch impassively as he gropes at the arms of his chair, trying to push himself to his feet as well. He wipes his arm across his mouth and staggers forward, to where he's placed his clean robes on the leather couch under the window. I throw him one last glare of pure hatred before stalking out of the office.

_._

"Draco! There you are, mate, we've been looking everywhere for you." Blaise shouts as I walk into the lobby. I give him and our companions- Crabbe, Nott, Goyle- a snarky grin.

"Missed me, Zabini? You might want to turn down the desperation, it's giving away your crush on me." I shoot back, and he laughs. The boys are all excited for tonight, I can tell. This their first time coming here, and my second time seeing the show. I pop in every week to check on Lucius and Aunt Bella, maybe have a quick shag with Pansy in a broom closet, but I've only stayed to watch the girls once. It was... Surreal. I knew almost every one of them, had grown up beside them, played Quidditch against some. To see them up on stage, dancing and trying to ignore the yells of the men was a very strange experience.

A bell tolls once, and the crowd in the lobby starts murmuring excitedly, filtering into the Lounge. Almost time for the show. I laugh at my friend's suddenly ecstatic expressions and motion to them to head in without me. They look a little confused but shake it off, promising to save mea a seat. The lobby empties, and I can see Bellatrix over in the far corner, talking to Yaxley and laughing. Walking over to them, I plaster a confident smile on my face.

"Aunt Bella, you look lovely," I simper when I reach them. She wearing some awful, sequin-covered oxblood dress. I nod to Yaxley. "Erik, good to see you as well." We shake hands and I give Aunt Bella a kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you, Draco," Bella says regally. "I saw that you brought some guests to our little show tonight?" I nod. "Good. Have them spread the word on how delicious it is. And, give that Blaise a free pass to one of the girls. I can tell, he's one we want as a regular," she finishes with a laugh, and I nod again. Blaise has a lot of Galleons, more so than even us, and it's evident from his exorbitantly expensive clothes.

"Tell me, have you seen your father tonight?" Bella asks, smoothing down her dress casually but with a twinkle in her eyes. I want to snort with derision but hold back.

"Yes, I have. He's awake and getting ready, I suspect he'll be here shortly." I say, and she grins like a shark. She dismisses Yaxley with a cool wave, and he heads into the Lounge. Bellatrix starts to head for the staircase that leads to the offices, murmuring a goodbye to me as she runs a hand over her elaborate coif, presumably to smooth it down. I catch her arm and bring her up short, forcing her to look in my eyes. Aunt Bella's black orbs are startled and growing swiftly angry.

"Do you know what day it is, dear Aunt?" I ask quietly. She flushes and yanks her arm back. The atmosphere, so light a moment ago, is tense and dangerous now. "Yes, today is the anniversary of Mother's death. Your dear, _dear_ sister. Oh, we miss her, don't we?"

She gives a sharp nod.

"We wouldn't want to do anything to tarnish her memory, now would we, dear Aunt?"

She shakes her head.

"Good. Now, I don't think you need to check on Father. He's a big boy, I'm sure he can put on his robes by himself. Go get ready for your entrance, why don't you?" The pleasantry has seeped out of my voice, but while Bellatrix looks affronted she doesn't protest. I watch her go with great satisfaction.

Being the Dark Lord's favorite is very pleasing sometimes.

_._

I check my watch again. Five minutes to the show, and Lucius still hasn't made his way downstairs. Sighing in annoyance, I start my way back to his office. I pause when I'm outside the door, hearing harsh breathing and moans. And then-

"Stop, please!" A girl's voice that ends in a pained wail. Without thinking, I kick the door open and brandish my wand. Taking in the scene, I shout in alarm. A pretty blonde girl who looks vaguely familiar, is being crushed under my father on his desk. Her clothes are torn, and his hands are all over her.

"_Impediamenta_!" I scream at my father, who's blown off of the girl and onto the floor. He gives a pained groan, and before he can get up I rush to the girl, gather her gently in my arms, and rush from the room.

As I run to the small Healer's office, I'm tortured by memory screams and flashes of horrific visions. My father, slapping my mother across the face. My father, punching her in the stomach. My father, ripping away her robes and thrusting himself into her, her agonized scream piercing the air.

My father, my father, my father, watched through the crack in his bedroom door by his young son, frozen in place and terrified of what he's seeing.

His son, me, Draco, tiptoeing away in shame, assuming that's just what happens in marriage.

"Thank you," I hear the girls ragged whisper and look down into her tortured face. She is so familiar, I just can't place her...

"Did he rape you?" I ask, my voice harsh with memories. She shakes her head slowly.

"He was going to."

My arms clench tighter around her petite body, and I force them to relax. I will not harm her.

"Who are you? You look so familiar." I say, trying to lighten my voice so not to scare her. She smiles faintly up at me, probably detecting the forced lightness.

"Astoria Greengrass. You were in my sister's year at Hogwarts, I'm two years younger than you."

"You're Daphne's sister! That's why you look familiar. You two look very similar. How is Daph?" I ask, excited. She was a good friend of mine, and very smart. She helped me through a lot.

"Daphne's dead." Astoria answers gently. I nearly drop the girl in shock. I mumble a nearly incoherent apology, which she accepts, and offer my condolences. We've reached the Healer's room, and I look down at Astoria.

"I will come back after the show to check on you, if you'd like." I offer softly. She blushes and stammers that that's not necessary, but I can hear the gratefulness in her voice.

"And my _father_," I snarl, "will never lay a hand on you again, Astoria. I swear." Her blue eyes glisten with pained tears at the mention of him, but she smiles at me.

"Thank you... Draco." She says hesitantly. I nod, and knock on the Healer's door. He takes Astoria in and I walk back to my father's office, shaken by this gentle creature for some reason, though I barely talked to her. I need to ask how she ended up in his room.

Treading down the hallway with murder on my mind, I grin ferally when I pause at his ajar door and see him passed out on the floor, snoring.

This is going to be fun.

* * *

Hey guys! It's been forever, sorry! But I'm still alive!

So, you got Draco's perspective this chapter. What did you think? The next will be from his perspective as well, because there would've been WAY too much cramming of plot into this one. So this is a bit shorter than usual, but I'll try to be back sooner.

Some notes: I have no fucking clue where Astoria came from. Seriously. I was writing and when I looked back over, BAM! New character. Ha.

Another thing- every chapter or so, I get a flood of anonymous reviews. I assume that they're from the same person because they're all within minutes of each other and have the same tone to them. While I really appreciate feedback SO SO MUCH (not-so-subtle-hint), I would rather earn that many reviews from multiple chapters instead of just one. Does that make me sound crazy? Eh. Maybe so.

Also, in case anyone was wondering: Wands. The Domestics have them, but they have restrictions to housework/makeup/hair spells. You'll get to see what Hermione did to hers to change that very soon!

Alrighty, love you all! Thanks for reading, and please review!

Cheers,

Raspberryjukebox


	6. Malefic

_like father, like son_

* * *

**BLACK LACE**

Chapter Six

_Malefic_

Apparently, the bastard that is my father was too drunk to pick his sorry self up off the floor. Standing in the doorway of his office, I can just see the glimmer of his silver-blond hair peeking from behind his desk, where he fell after my jinx. I think I can hear him snoring, just a bit.

I step into the room silently and lock the door behind me.

_._

For three years, I've dealt with the fall of my idol. I'd always looked up to my father, wanted to be just like him. His affection for me was rarely shown, but when it was... When it was, I was happier than any little boy on Earth. It was true that I'd feared him. He'd hurt my mother when he was in one of his rages, and occasionally hit me. But I didn't care. I was _starved_ for his attention.

The only consistent, loving care I ever received was from my mother, and while I loved her too, it wasn't enough. I needed my father to treat me like his prized heir, something he so rarely did. As I grew older, I realized that my father's attention wasn't going to be gained by simpering and adoring him, no- I needed to make him _proud_. So I joined the Quidditch team. I worked hard to get good grades. I took every opportunity to shoot down Potter and his pet Weasel. The Mudblood was a great bonus to that. At first.

It wasn't that I didn't hate Hermione bloody Granger, because I really did. The problem was that she was so much smarter than the Witless Wonders, and I had somehow gathered a very grudging admiration for her brains. How could I not? I worked endlessly to do good in school. She just... Got it. And yes, yes, that enraged me, but sometimes I had to give it to the dirty little swot.

My father had noticed my slight change in opinion of her, however. I guess my rants about the three when I was on break had started to focus more on her, and Lucius always was a quick bastard. Whenever I brought the trio up in conversation, his eyes would narrow almost imperceptibly, listening between the lines. I was a bit too slow to catch that, when I was younger. But around fifth year, just before he went to the Ministry and ran into her himself, he gave himself away.

I'd been telling him how I'd managed to heat Granger's cauldron in Potions to a very unsafe temperature just when she leaned over it. The fumes from the Draught of Peace were thick and strong enough to knock her right out, and she'd fallen right into the ginger idiot's clumsy clumsy arms. Lucius had raised his eyebrow.

_"Draco, you seem to have more to tell me about that little mudblood every day. I hardly recall the last time you spoke about Potter or that Weasley brat without my prompting it. Is there anything I should know... _Son_?"_

After that, I hadn't brought her up again. There was an undertone of raw anger in his voice when he'd asked, and it sounded like he intended to punish someone for the topic. I couldn't stand to displease him.

Lie for him, cover for him, beg for him, sell my soul for him. I joined the Death Eater's _for him_. To fucking save him. And it worked, he was slowly forgiven, and what was my thanks? A beating, one that lasted a whole night. He'd had a bloody house elf shackle me to a new whipping post in the basement and lashed me with a thorn-imbedded whip for eight bloody hours.

Because in his eyes, I'd failed. Dumbledore hadn't died at my hand. I wasn't _good_ enough. Big fucking surprise there. I never had been.

After that night, my innocence gone and eyes opened to the new world for the first time, my respect for my father melted away. But my love for him clung like a disease. I mean, he was my _father_. Cruel or not, he helped give me life.

So love stayed. Until the week after the Final Battle. Until he killed my mother.

A part of me died with her. And hate replaced affection. A fire for revenge smoldered away, but the Dark Lord threatened imprisonment on me if I killed Lucius. So I waited. Climbed to the top of the ranks with cunning and patience. No task was too vile to complete, too inhumane. I murdered, tortured. Lied, deceived, watched old classmates burn alive at the stake. Sometimes I was the one that started the fire. I didn't care. For the first year, I was too numb. I felt nothing besides hate for Lucius.

The second year, a new Draco crept in. Not one I would have recognized during my Hogwarts years, one that I would have feared very much. A Draco that Bellatrix approved of, that my mother would have wept over. And still my father didn't care.

Not that I needed him to anymore. It was just interesting how apathetic the drunk became.

The third year, this year, I'm at the top of the game. The Dark Lord trusts me like no other, and he doesn't even give me many tasks anymore. My job is to listen to his new plots, gather teams for attacks, etcetera. I can be my own person under his rule, and I have nearly unlimited freedom.

Except for this one. Damned. Thing. Lucius. I'm fucking done, _done_ with being stopped from avenging my mother. He shouldn't be allowed to breathe while she's not, when he stopped her breathing for no goddamned reason! Bellatrix just said he snapped. I don't give a damn. Point is, it's all over. He's over. Now.

_._

I wake the bastard, silence the room, and wait. Lucius is sitting up slowly, grumbling and groping blindly for his bottle of Firewhiskey. I grab it off the table and hold it out to him teasingly. He reaches for it, flicking grey hair out of his gritty eyes.

I smash the bottle over his head, making sure to hit him where it'll hurt the most but keep him alive.

Lucius crashes back to the ground with a muffled yell. I'm still holding the neck of the bottle, now a jagged smile, and I crouch next to him, grabbing the collar of his robes and yanking him up to me. His face is confused and pained, blood gushing out of his forehead and glass bits glimmering in his hair. I don't worry about the blood too much.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing, boy?" Lucius roars at me, swiping his dirty hand up at my face. I knock it away easily, and it falls to his head to press into his wound. He's panting now, focus on his injury more than me.

But I shake him, bringing his attention back to me. "I'm doing what I should have done three years ago, _Father_," I spit in his face. He's pale and horrified, but Lucius wasn't in the Dark Lord's inner circle for nothing. He's rallying, I see it.

And he lunges for his wand, just to the right of where we're gathered on the floor.

But I throw him the opposite direction and hurtle to my feet, rushing over to the stick of wood that helped kill my mother. I stomp on it with all of my strength, it's snap the most satisfying sound I've ever heard.

Turning back to my father, I raise both the broken bottle and my wand in his direction.

"_Petrificus Totalus_." I say with a very nasty grin.

He snaps into a straight board on the floor, bleeding profusely and looking absolutely, deliciously terrified.

* * *

HELLO MY LOVELIES! Oh god, I'm so sorry it's been soooooo long. I'm going to start writing the next chapter immediately after I upload this. I know EXACTLY what's gonna happen, I just wanted to make this one about Lucius and Draco.

REVIEW EVEN IF IT'S TO TELL ME YOU HATE ME FOR NEGLECTING YOU. And I am soooo sorry. I love you guys.

Cheers,

Raspberryjukebox


	7. Lethal

_blood a river of battery acid, primal instincts bared_

* * *

**BLACK LACE**

Chapter Seven

_Lethal_

I walk down the wood-paneled office hallway with heavy feet. My body feels insubstantially light while at the same time weighted down. I'm sweating on the back of my neck, on my top lip. My wand is clenched in my fist, and my mind is a hazy melody of triumphant choruses singing meshed with the keening of ghosts.

Blood squelches under my shoes, and my robe drags a gory trail down the hall. My hands are dripping in the stuff.

Covered in my father's blood. His perfect, near-holy pure blood. The blood that runs through my veins. It's now splattered all over his office, splashed up to the ceiling, painting a grisly picture on the walls.

It's done. It's finally, _finally_ done.

I can feel the small, mad smile stretch across my face, dried blood flaking off with the movement.

_._

The Men's Lounge is mercifully empty when I go in to clean myself. I head over to a basin and flick my want at the spout, filling it with green-tinted water. The scent of eucalyptus swirls up around me, and I almost snort at the frilly indulgence of it all. Slowly, I extend my hands out in front of me and examine them in the soft light. Pale, large, with dried blood turning almost black coating them. Under the nails, in the creases of my knuckles.

And suddenly it hits me that this is my _fucking father's blood_, and I don't want any of it on me. None. So I thrust my hands into the basin, up to my elbows, and use wandless magic to up the temperature until I'm burning. I scrub for a long, arduous minute before withdrawing them, now red and prickling. I _Scourgify_ them for good measure, along with my crusty robe and everywhere else that I'm covered in the shit.

That's when I make the mistake of flicking my eyes up to the mirror.

My pupils are so dilated that my eyes look black. They're wild with a frantic power that I still feel coursing through my veins, like an ongoing electrocution. It's the power of holding a life in your hands and making the conscious decision to crush it. And it was hitting me, again and again, begging for another turn. This was the cost of being a Death Eater and consorting with such Darkness. It begins to consume you, and I was nearly gone.

I am very, very dangerous right now.

And I need to release this energy. What better way than to do it to one of Bella's mudblood slaves that wait tables or what the bloody hell ever during the show? They won't be missed.

I grin ferally at my reflection, and can almost see Darkness expanding behind my eyes.

_._

Music is booming through the walls, and the double doors leading to the show room flash neon lights through the cracks. There are two security wizards guarding it, but they know to let me in. Which they do promptly, and I step into the whirlwind of color, light, and jeers.

I ignore the girls onstage- they're not my interest tonight. I sweep my gaze over the room, spotting Blaise and the group up front, on their feet and cheering. Brushing them off mentally, I look now for the girls in the ugly robes carrying trays. There are several within a twenty-foot range of me, but most of them are engaged in illicit activities with the clients.

And then I hear the quiet sob to my left and glance at irritatedly at whoever is getting weepy in this atmosphere. And then I do a double-take.

No. Fucking. Way.

"_Granger_?" This is too much. First Lucius, finally dead, now the mudblood just standing there, practically begging me to- to-

I don't know what.

But she's gotten over her shock at seeing me, anyways, and looks me right in the eye. "Malfoy," she snarls at me, "So nice to see you again." She sure doesn't look like she means what she says.

Her hair is longer than I've ever seen it, and isn't bushy anymore. It falls in a jumbled mess of waves, kinks, and curls- poor little mudblood probably doesn't have a brush. Her face is more angled, too, and paler, and those eyes... There is so much soul behind them. The demons behind mine are getting very excited about that.

"What in the name of Merlin are you doing here, Granger?" I demand, still looking her up and down. Now I see the tear tracks, the red-rimmed eyes, the chapped lips, and the gooseflesh covering her skin.

"Why Malfoy, can't you tell? I come for the tits," Granger shoots at me, and it makes me suddenly furious. She shouldn't be snarky, she has _no right_-

"Don't tease me, _Mudblood_, or I will punish you," I whisper. And now I run a finger down the smooth skin of her neck, initially just to scare the little bitch. But it's so soft, and I keep my finger there until she shivers and shrugs it off. "Are you one of Aunt Bella's slaves, then, Mudblood?"

I grin, because she's very determinedly not looking at me. And a mudblood ignoring a pureblood is just not done- the perfect excuse to punish her. She will be my outlet. I strike like a snake, throw her over my shoulder and just run blindly out of the room, through the Lobby, and to where the whore's sleep. I can vaguely hear her screaming at me, and she's beating her fists on my back, but I couldn't care less.

The Darkness inside me is pulsing now, and it wears a dark, expectant grin.

I stop outside of a random door and drop her against it, taking a moment to catch my breath. But apparently Granger's got just as much fire in her as I remember, because she shoves past me with fury on her face and sprints further down the hall. And the Darkness doesn't like that. _I_ don't like that. Chasing victims down has never been fun, and the bitch is just making things harder on herself now.

I hurtle after her, and I suppose she hears me because she throws a panicked glance over her shoulder before rocketing around a corner. But then I hear a thud and a muffled, "No!"

As I turn the corner I almost step on the mudblood, sprawled out on the floor. Now I'm heaving for breath, and filled with fury. I lean down and grab her, pulling her against me tightly so she can't escape, and head back to where we were. She squirms against me, gasping and whimpering, and there's absolute despair in her eyes. Well, fuck her.

I shove her against the wall, and see that her face is scraped. Good. Looking at her, I start to realize that some bruises aren't new. Granger has purple blooming all over her skin, and they can't all be from that little trip.

"Malfoy," she whispers, resigned now. "Go. Just... go."

The Darkness that wears a grin now bares its teeth and snarls, and I turn her around to face me.

"Granger. I'm not going to do that."

Her eyes are terrified, like the lamb before its slaughter. My father had that look about him, too, not even an hour ago. And it's the memories of what happened- peeling off his skin with Dark hexes, slicing off chunks of his arms and legs, mutilating his face- that sets that power off in me again.

I draw my arm back for the first hard hit, and see the panic of the lamb turn into the resignation of a woman who's experienced many beatings before.

_._

I don't remember it.

I'm standing outside of the Healer's office, waiting to check in on Astoria like nothing's really happened, and I can't remember the last half hour. Just the look in Granger's eyes before I hit her, and her crumpled body as I walked away. I know I broke through my haze when I heard her breaths become labored, and stopped after that, but otherwise...

Fucking hell, Draco.

_Hell_.

The Darkness grins.

* * *

Ok, I know, I'm shit. This chapter and the last were really short and sucky but I had to get caught up so we can get on with the damn story already! And I'm seriously horrified with what I just wrote. Shudder. Nasty stuff.

So, Draco's pretty fucking bad. And all of that Darkness stuff is here to stay, guys, and I'm sorry if you hate it. But it's going to become an internal battle for Draco- himself, or the Darkness.

PLEASE REVIEW! I want to know your thoughts! ALSO- I have a oneshot, Dramione of course, coming out soon, so be on the lookout!

I LOVE YOU ALL, I'M SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG! MWAH!

Cheers,

Raspberryjukebox


End file.
